


Long, Long, Long

by tilden



Category: The Killing
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilden/pseuds/tilden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holder's got a thing for The One With The Hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long, Long, Long

**Author's Note:**

> Silly schmoop-smut; I couldn't bear to leave these two where the show did, so this takes place in...better times, whenever that might be. 
> 
> Also I had the audacity to yoink the title from the Beatles. It's a nice, cryptic little George Harrison love song, an adjective, *and* a verb that I think suits Linden and Holder and their confused, subconscious yearning for each other nicely.

He can’t stop messing with her hair. They’re spooned together in his rumpled bed, a rare lazy Saturday morning tilting into afternoon. Holder loops her hair around his wrist, lets it slide through his fingers again and again, coppery silk. Twists a couple sections around each other but he doesn’t actually know shit about making a braid, so instead he tucks it behind her ear and presses his face into the lush waves at the nape of her neck.

“How long you been growing your hair out like this, Linden?”

She turns over, nestling against him. “I don’t know. I just never cut it.” She rests her head on his shoulder and runs her nails lightly over his chest, tracing his tattoo. “Why?”

“Just…I like it.” Holder lifts another hank of her hair and drapes it across his face, breathing in her scent of shampoo, cigarettes, sex. “Rapunzel,” he mutters, grinning behind the warm curtain of it. “Let down your sexy red locks, girl, lemme get all up in your _tower_ …”

Linden raises her head and peers at him. “If this is your kink, Holder, it’s pretty lame,” she says.

“Oh, snap! Rapunzel, copping an _attitude_! Lame? You want kinky, mamacita? Oh, I’ll _give_ you kinky!” He slaps her ass, a cartoon _smack!_ and rolls them so that he’s on top. Tickle-gropes her, planting sloppy kisses like bites wherever he can reach as she writhes beneath him, chuckling.

He doesn’t tell her, then—he might not, ever—that what really does it for him? what gets him hard enough to cut glass? It isn’t her hair. It’s this: Sarah Linden, laughing. When she’s startled into a breathless giggle, and masks it with a scowl. When she throws back her head, now, and twines her bare limbs with his. When he cajoles and teases and pesters a dry snicker out of her in the car. In those moments when he can make her laugh, that’s when he knows, she’s _happy_. For a second, for an hour, maybe longer, maybe always if he lets himself believe it: he, Stephen Holder, can make Sarah Linden happy.

**Author's Note:**

> C'mon, that's a spectacular head of hair. When Mireille Enos glams up and gets some product up in there, Connie Britton better sleep with one eye open.


End file.
